


the most of freedom (nothing ever lasts forever)

by leslytherinphoenix



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angie is a theatre nerd, F/F, Peggy is a nerd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3688425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leslytherinphoenix/pseuds/leslytherinphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angie/Peggy High School AU, in which Peggy is running for student body president, Angie is a theatre nerd, and no one likes Thompson, feat. Colleen as Peggy’s campaign manager and Gloria and Carol as snarky bisexuals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to tumblr users delphineshigh, transboyjackkelly, carmillanerdstein, and cressidasvines for support and editing during the writing process.

 

“Hi, do you want a cupcake?” Peggy puts her best fake smile on, hopes to God there isn’t any lipstick on her teeth, and holds the frighteningly pink pastry out towards Dan Sousa, who looks at it and seems a little—okay, a lot—confused.

“Sure,” he says, and takes it, but glances at her a bit suspiciously. “Uh, what’s this for?”

“Peggy’s running for student body president,” Colleen interjects, handing a pamphlet to a scrawny freshman. “I’m her campaign manager, and this is her campaign table.”  Colleen gestures proudly at the table Peggy and her are sitting at, with the pamphlets and the plates of cupcakes neatly arranged and organized.

“Oh.” Dan looks at the cupcake. “Well, you got my vote.”

“Thank you, Daniel,” Peggy says, and smiles genuinely this time. Dan nods and walks off, his crutch clicking on the linoleum floor.

“I think I’ll have your website done by tonight,” Colleen mentions offhandedly, then grins brightly and hands some football player a pamphlet and moves the plate towards him. “Vote for Peggy!”

“Is England even a democracy?” He asks, looking at them skeptically. Still, he grabs a cupcake and takes a giant bite out of it. Peggy glares at him, and he vanishes into the crowd. 

“Who was that?” Colleen asks, wrinkling her nose.

“Jack Thompson,” Peggy says, sounding very displeased. “He’s in my European History class.”

“Oh, is that the one who calls you Marge?”

“Don’t remind me.” Peggy grits her teeth. “When are we getting those campaign posters up?”

“I’m not done printing them,” Colleen confesses, then looks over at Peggy guiltily. “You can come over tonight and we’ll just power through?”

“Can’t,” Peggy shakes her head. “Football practice.”

“After football practice?”

“Debate.” Peggy rolls her eyes. “It’s a busy week.”

Colleen makes a vague sound of sympathy. “You can miss one practice, Peggy. It ain’t life and death.”

“Darling,” Peggy sighs, “you have no idea.” She brushes a lock of hair away from her face and straightens her shoulders, ready to go back to smiling and cupcake-ing. “I’ve time Friday, though. And I can probably convince Coach Phillips to let me into the building on Saturday if I come up with a good enough excuse, so we can hang the posters up then.”

“Sure,” Colleen says and shrugs. “Just don’t overwork yourself.”

Peggy gasps like she’s offended. “I would never!”

“So, are these free?” Someone says from the right, and Peggy’s head snaps around. The speaker is this tiny girl in Peggy’s Calculus class that she’s never actually spoken to.

“Yes.” Peggy’s got her campaign smile on again.

“They’re Vote-For-Peggy cupcakes,” Colleen explains.

The girl raises an eyebrow. “Which one of you is Peggy?”

“That would be me,” Peggy says. She shakes the girl’s hand, firmly, like her mother taught her. “Peggy Carter.”

“You got a grip,” the girl remarks. “Angie Martinelli. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Peggy holds the plate of cupcakes out to her. “Do you want one?”

“Obviously,” Angie says and takes a cupcake. “Who’re you running against?”

Peggy makes a face. “Dottie Underwood,” she says bitterly. “She’s, well, quite determined.”

“Yeah?” Angie looks vaguely interested. “What’s she giving out?”  She takes a bite of the cupcake.

“I think she’s handing out cookies,” Colleen says nonchalantly, rearranging the pamphlets. “And pickles. Which is weird, but you know, whatever.”

“I might have to go check out the cookies,” Angie says through a mouthful of food.

“So the cupcake means nothing?” Peggy asks incredulously. “The lack of loyalty this generation has is incredible.”

“Sorry, English.” Angie smiles apologetically and grabs a pamphlet off the table. “I forgot my lunch.”

Angie starts walking away, and Peggy almost sighs in exasperation. “Will you at least vote for me?” She calls after Angie’s retreating figure.

Giggling, Angie turns around. “I’ll think about it!” She calls, then disappears down the hall.

“She’s leading me on,” Peggy mumbles bitterly. She rubs her forehead.

“That’s Angie for you.” Colleen grabs a cupcake off the plate. “Your pastries got to her first, though, so don’t worry. She’ll vote for you.”

“You know her?” Peggy asks, then glares daggers at a freshman that’s definitely already had a cupcake and is now loitering around the table again.

“Gloria,” Colleen says, distaste coloring her voice. “Angie’s alright, though. You want me to put in a good word for you, Peg?”

“Whatever you’re hinting at, no,” Peggy sputters—actually sputters—then shakes her head. “Oh, Colleen, don’t,” she protests when she sees Colleen’s look, that slightly amused, get-out-of-the-house-more-Margaret look that’s far too familiar. “I don’t even know her!”

“I didn’t say anything,” Colleen says teasingly. “You better watch out, though, she’s cute.”

“You’re impossible,” Peggy grumbles. “I swear you only do that to get a reaction out of me.”

“That’s because you’re right,” Colleen admits. “It’s really funny. Kind of cute, actually, you look like a tomato when you blush. You make a very charming vegetable.”

“Tomatoes are a fruit,” Peggy says, for the millionth time.

“That’s not so cute.” Colleen wrinkles her nose. “Anyways. Is it okay I leave early? I’ve got to change for cheer practice.”

“Of course,” Peggy says, and starts packing away her pamphlets. “I’ll be here after school for about a half hour before football, hopefully I’ll get rid of the rest of these cupcakes.” She zips her bag up, then looks up at Colleen. “You’re doing the baking tonight, right?”

“Sure thing.” Colleen stands and pushes her chair in. “See you later.”

Peggy clears the table by herself, hands off another cupcake to her English Literature teacher—hey, there’s no harm in a bit of innocent bribery—and makes her way down the hall, passing Dottie’s table on the way to her Calculus class. There’s an admittedly larger group of students hanging around there, probably because Dottie’s got all of her scary friends (there are rumors, not that Peggy believes them, but they’re definitely frightening enough to get the rest of the student body wrapped around Dottie’s little finger) keeping everyone away from Peggy and her cupcakes.

And there is, indeed, a giant jar of pickles on the table.  

The throng of people around Dottie’s table finally disperses enough that Peggy can get through. Peggy shoots an angry glare at the back of Dottie’s head, not that she would notice. _Fear tactics can only get her so far,_ Peggy tries to reassure herself. _People will realize she’s only bluffing soon enough._

Peggy, much to her surprise, actually makes it to class on time, but Angie walks into Calculus a good three minutes late. Mr. Dooley, of course, doesn’t notice (he’s too busy telling Howard Stark off for bringing his latest gadget into class and somehow managing to sync Dooley’s computer to the PandaCam at the National Zoo), so Peggy takes the opportunity to tap Angie on the shoulder and maybe do a little social networking.

“I hope you’re happy,” Peggy says, motioning to the stack of what must be five or six cookies on Angie’s desk.

“I hope you’re happy now,” Angie shoots back, and when Peggy blinks in confusion, blushes. “Sorry. Latent Wicked phase. “

Peggy laughs a little, then casts a cautious glance towards Mr. Dooley, who is indeed still yelling at Howard. “So, was Dottie’s bribery effective?”

“Aren’t you a little bit of a hypocrite?” Angie grins, an easy smile that reaches her eyes and looks well-practiced.

“I had pamphlets along with the pastries, so no, not really.” Peggy shrugs. “It was information with a little bit of added incentive.”

“You’re good at that,” Angie laughs.

“Good at what?”

“Convincing other people you’re right.” Angie takes a bite of a cookie. “You’d make a good politician.”

Peggy beams. “So you’ll vote for me?”

Angie swallows. “Never said that,” she says, but her tone is light. “You want a cookie?”

“Absolutely not,” Peggy scoffs.

“Suit yourself,” Angie shrugs. She takes another bite.

“I’m running against Dottie, I can’t be seen with her cookies in my mouth,” Peggy says, and Angie chokes on her cookie and starts coughing loudly. “Oh my god, are you alright?”

“I just—“ Angie’s still coughing. There are tears streaming down her face. “Cookies—in your—I’m so sorry,” Angie manages to get out, then starts giggling uncontrollably. “I’m so sorry,”  she repeats, then puts her head on Peggy’s desk. Angie’s shoulders are shaking with laughter.

“Peggy,” Mr. Dooley says from the front, and Peggy’s head snaps up towards him, like she’s been paying attention all along. “Everything alright back there?”

“Perfectly,” Peggy says, putting on her best I’m-charming-and-European smile.

“Care to join the class?” Dooley continues, doing that weird thing with his hands that he always seems to be doing.

“Of course, of course.” Peggy nods earnestly, waiting until Dooley looks away. When he (finally) does, she looks down at Angie, who’s still laughing, albeit silently. “Angie Martinelli, get your mind out of the gutter and your head off my desk,” Peggy hisses, but has to bite back a grin.

Angie’s head promptly pops up. She shoots Peggy a quick grin, then turns around and faces the board. Peggy watches Angie out of the corner of her eye for a few moments, then shakes her head and tries to concentrate.

 

“Website’s up,” Colleen says, plopping another stack of pamphlets onto the table. “I used that headshot from last summer when you were applying for that thing, hope that’s okay.”

“That thing,” Peggy nods. “Very specific.”

“Ha.” Colleen snorts. “It’s pretty picture, though.”

“Prettier than Dottie Underwood?” Peggy says jokingly, then composes herself. “Alright. We’re professional. We’re going to win this.”

“Breathe,” Colleen tells her, then turns to the lanky boy who just walked up to their table. “Hey, Ed! Look, Peg, it’s your fellow European!”

“Hi, Jarvis.” Peggy slides a cupcake across the table towards him, which he accepts. “Can I interest you in a pamphlet?”

“No point,” Jarvis says. “You had me at the cupcake.” He pauses and wrinkles his forehead. “Are these the gluten free ones?” Peggy nods, and Jarvis beams. “Besides, my only other option is Dottie Underwood, and not voting for you would almost be treason.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” Peggy says, shoving a pamphlet towards him anyways. “Here, take it, give to that girl in your English class you’re always talking about.”

“I don’t know if Anna has much interest in politics,” Ed muses, a kind of wistful gaze coming across his face. Colleen and Peggy trade exasperated, if amused, looks. “Anyways, thank you. I’ll be sure to see you around.”

“Bye, Ed!” Colleen calls cheerfully, and turns back to Peggy once he’s out of earshot. “When is he finally going to ask that girl out?”

“No idea,” Peggy sighs. “It’s getting ridiculous, though.”

Colleen nods in agreement, then looks at the stack on pamphlets on the table. “Maybe we should split up. I can go hand these out by the vending machines, and you stay here with the cupcakes?”

“It’s a plan,” Peggy nods. “Luck be with you.”

Colleen rolls her eyes. “So overdramatic. You should join theatre.” Colleen pauses. “Please get rid of those cupcakes, though. I can’t handle eating any more. Especially the peanut butter ones.”

“Alright, alright,” Peggy grumbles. She looks down at the cupcakes, and rearranges them on the plate. When she glances back up, Colleen’s gone, and Angie’s standing in front of the table, looking at Peggy expectantly.

“I get two, right?” Angie asks, and makes a move to grab a cupcake. Peggy swats her hand away.

“One a person. Sorry.”

Angie pushes her bottom lip out just a tiny bit. “Please?”

“No," Peggy says. “One cupcake a person, no exceptions.”

“I saw Colleen eating two yesterday,” Angie protests, a hand stemmed on her hip. “Is she an exception?”

“Colleen baked them,” Peggy argues half-heartedly. She looks around to see if anyone’s coming down the hall—she doesn’t want everyone to swarm her, like teenagers so often do for food—then decides screw it, whatever, one time. One girl. “Alright, fine, but don’t tell anyone. If someone asks, just say you clobbered me over the head and stole one.”

“Thanks, English.” Angie smiles brightly and grabs a cupcake. “I owe you one.”

“How about you vote for me?” Peggy calls after Angie as she starts to walk away, definitely enjoying her cupcake more than she has the right to after getting it through blatant manipulation.

“I’m weighing my options!” Angie yells back, and Peggy sighs and puts her face in her hands.

To her surprise, quite a lot of people trickle over the next twenty minutes—mostly drama kids, a few band members, and some people that Peggy’s fairly sure she’s never seen before. Peggy smiles and hands out cupcakes and hopes that she’s convincing, and gets in a few subtle digs at Dottie that have Carol and Evelyn snorting with laughter. All in all, not bad. Colleen comes back five minutes before the end of lunch, pamphlet stack significantly smaller, and they grin at each other, with an unspoken _this might actually work_ passing between them.

 

 

“Lorraine came by today, while I was handing out pamphlets,” Colleen says that night, when they’re feverishly printing the last of a stack of posters with a big bold VOTE FOR PEGGY emblazoned on the top and a moderately professional headshot situated neatly in the middle.

“Oh?” Peggy turns. “Did she do anything?”

“She just did that smirk thing that makes people think she knows when the world is going to end,” Colleen huffs. “God, she’s so annoying.”

“I swear, half of the people that hang around Dottie just do so because they’re terrified of her friends.” Peggy grits her teeth. “It’s not like Dottie’s really that frightening.”

“It’s probably mostly Lorraine and Johann,” Colleen admits. “Lorraine because she’s an ice queen, and Johann because he looks like he can read minds.”

“It won’t work as a campaign strategy,” Peggy says bluntly. “It’s off-putting.”

“Peggy, don’t worry.” Colleen picks up a finished poster and holds it against the light, nodding with approval. “Everyone knows who you are. All the football players like you—”

“Except Thompson,” Peggy mutters bitterly.

“Except Thompson,” Colleen repeats, and sighs. “You have the entire Debate team on your side, plus all of the people who known you from Student Council, which you’ve done _since you’ve actually been at this school_ —”

“Oh, enough.” Peggy looks down, blushing. “Let’s just finish these posters, alright?”

The printer sputters, and Colleen fishes the last poster out. “Here we go.” She checks it over. “I did a really good job on this. Nice, me.”

“Glad to know you’re still humble,” Peggy says. “And officially, there’s a Debate meeting tomorrow, so the building will be unlocked and security systems off, but unofficially, we’re going to school and hanging up the posters. We just have to be out by ten.”

“Ten?” Colleen looks at Peggy, incredulous. “On a Saturday?”

“It shouldn’t take more than an hour,” Peggy says innocently. “And you did want to be my campaign manager. Of course, I could always call Ed to—“

“Fine,” Colleen groans. “But you’re buying me doughnuts.”

 

 

“This is too early.” Colleen’s been complaining bitterly the entire car ride. “And I ate too many doughnuts.”

“That’s not my fault,” Peggy sighs. “And it’ll be worth it when I win.” She casts a glance back towards the stack of hopefully unwrinkled posters on the back seat, then looks back at the road. “We should hang some up in the auditorium. And by the library. And in the gym, obviously.”

“How are we even going to get in?” Colleen asks. “You’re not going to pick locks, are you?”

“Of course not,” Peggy sniffs. “Coach Phillips just trusts me a lot.” She fumbles around in her purse, then pulls out a ring with a bunch of keys dangling from it.

“Teacher’s pet,” Colleen mumbles under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing,” Colleen says brightly.

Peggy nods. “That’s what I thought.”

They drive on in comfortable silence, Colleen nodding off against the window and then jerking awake when Peggy parks in front of school.

“An hour, Colleen, let’s get these posters up.”

They’re actually making pretty good time—they’ve only got three posters left, and it’s 9:37, and Colleen’s leaning against the wall and breathing heavily from having run all over the school to hang Peggy’s face up on the wall.

“I can do the last three myself,” Peggy offers, because she does feel a bit guilty. “Just hang out here, alright? I’ll go put these by the auditorium.”

“Thanks, Peg,” Colleen says. Peggy smiles at her and leaves.

The school is silent, almost eerily so—Peggy’s footsteps echo in the halls, and she keeps expecting someone to pop out of an empty classroom. _Overactive imagination,_ she chides herself. _Pull yourself together._

Except she’s definitely not hallucinating the babble of conversation coming from the auditorium, nor the angry seeming voice from just before it. Peggy strains to listen; she can’t understand a word the voice is saying, until she realizes— _oh._ That’s Italian.

Even though Peggy’s taken Italian since she was fourteen, and even though she doesn’t necessarily consider herself untalented when it comes to languages, she can only pick out a word or two—something about unfair, something about favoritism, and some string of animated speech that Peggy’s pretty sure she won’t find in any sort of textbook. Then Peggy rounds the corner and turns into the next hall, and there’s Angie, motioning wildly through the air and pressing her phone to her ear.

Peggy stops a few paces away from Angie, afraid that she’ll think Peggy’s been listening in, or watching—which she really hasn’t been—and considers just walking around Angie and maneuvering her way into the auditorium.

Almost as soon as the thought crosses Peggy's mind, Angie hangs up, pressing the “end call” button on her phone angrily and muttering—still in Italian—under her breath. She turns, just the tiniest bit, and spots Peggy towards the middle of the hall, freezing almost instantly.

“Did you break in?” Angie asks, and there’s still a hint of irritation in her voice.

“I’m hanging up campaign posters,” Peggy says lamely, and wishes she could come up with something more eloquent.

“Oh.” Some kind of relief washes over Angie’s face. “I got worried for a second, there.”

“What would I even be doing?” Peggy motions towards the empty school.

“You tell me,” Angie shrugs. “When’s the vote, anyways?”

“Next Tuesday,” Peggy answers automatically, then pauses. “Wait,” she starts. “What are you doing here?”

 “Play practice,” Angie says, like that’s obvious. “I just—I ducked out to call my mom.”

“Oh.” Peggy feels a little bit ridiculous. “Is, er, everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Angie says, waving it off. She looks a little tired, now that Peggy looks at her properly. Angie’s hair isn’t as fluffed as it is during the week. She’s out of dress code (not that that matters) in an oversized sweater and flannel pajama pants.

Peggy clears her throat. “Is it alright if I go into the auditorium and hang these posters up?”

“Of course,” Angie says and starts walking towards the door, motioning towards Peggy to follow her. “Our stage manager is kind of—well, you’ll see. It’ll be okay, though, probably.”

True to Angie’s word, some guy that Peggy only later identifies as Ray Krzeminski jumps up as soon as they walk through the door. “What is she doing in here? This is a private rehearsal!”

“She’s just hanging posters up.” Angie sounds annoyed. “Good luck,” she says to Peggy, then goes and sits next to Gloria, who’s eyeing Peggy dubiously.

 “Isn’t that Colleen’s best friend?” Gloria whispers, thankfully out of Peggy’s earshot.

“Who cares?” Angie hisses back.

“I do.” Gloria’s voice edges on a little bit too loud, and Angie elbows her in the stomach to get her to shut up. “How do you even know her?”

“I eat her cupcakes,” Angie replies without thinking.

“That’s quite the euphemism,” Gloria says, snickering to herself. Angie rolls her eyes. _Hell will freeze over on the day Gloria does not seize the chance at an innuendo,_ she thinks to herself, and casts a cautious glance towards Peggy, who’s on her tiptoes hanging up the last of her posters.

 

 

“Those posters are looking nice,” Angie remarks, leaning on Peggy’s campaign table with a loose grin on her face.

“Thank you,” Peggy smiles.

“I made them,” Colleen chimes in, grinning.

“That you did,” Peggy says out of the corner of her mouth. She looks back up at Angie and her smile falters. “You’re here for another cupcake, aren’t you?”

“Your website is false advertising,” Angie deflects. “The cupcake in the picture has white frosting. These have pink frosting. And where’s my chocolate cupcake, huh?”

Peggy sighs, grits her teeth, and pulls another container out of her bag. “Here are the chocolate cupcakes,” she says. Motioning towards each plate, she pins Angie with the most severe look she can muster. “These are gluten free, those are peanut butter, and these are vanilla.”

Okay, maybe Angie’s a little impressed.

“Complaints, Miss Martinelli?” Peggy asks, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand.

“Just checking to see if you live up to your promises,” Angie shrugs, and reaches towards the chocolate cupcakes. “You don’t mind, do you?” Peggy sighs, but she’s smiling, so Angie shrugs again and takes one. “Thanks, English.”

Colleen raises an eyebrow.

“Only because you let me into the auditorium,” Peggy mutters.

Angie laughs. “If you say so.” She starts to walk away, then turns back around. “I’ll probably vote for you,” she says, then keeps walking.

Once Angie’s definitely too far to be able to hear them, Colleen starts snickering. “You’re whipped,” she sing-songs under her breath.

Peggy slams her hand on the table. “Colleen Deirdre O’Brien!”

Colleen’s properly laughing now, tears at the corner of her eyes. “Come on, Peg,” she chokes out. “Professionalism.”  


	2. part two

“Okay.” Peggy sits down on her bed, crosses her legs, uncrosses them, and starts pacing around the room. “Elections are tomorrow. Tomorrow. Alright. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

Colleen, lounging on the mattress, throws a pillow at her. “Margaret Carter—“ she starts, with a very stern tone, then stops, thinking. “Hold on, I was going to say something really inspirational, but I forgot—“

Peggy picks up the pillow from the ground and throws it back towards Colleen, missing pathetically. “You’re very helpful,” she snarls, and Colleen sighs.

“Your speech was awesome,” Colleen says. “You handed out cupcakes for four days straight. Dottie Underwood is just really scary, okay?”

“I can be scary,” Peggy whines. “I’m extremely intimidating—“

“If you weren’t a complete goofball, you would be intimidating,” Colleen says flatly. “I’d tell you good luck, but you don’t even need luck, because you’re ridiculously competent.”

“Thank you,” Peggy says softly. She sits down next to Colleen and puts her head on her shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m so snippish. I couldn’t have done this without yo—“

“You’re also ridiculously sentimental.” Colleen threads her arm around Peggy’s shoulder and hugs her. “Obviously I was going to help you.”

“But what if no one votes for me?” Peggy asks, even though she knows that won’t be the case. “God. Why did Dottie even run?”

“The entire football team is going to vote for you,” Colleen says patiently. “I heard Tim Dugan threatening Thompson about it the other day. Plus you got Angie on your side, right? Everyone in theatre loves her, she’s like their residential puppy or something.”

“She never gave me a straight answer,” Peggy mumbles. Colleen snorts. “What?”

“You’re never gonna get anything straight from Angie,” Colleen says. “And yes, I mean that in every sense of the word.” She pauses, then takes a breath. “But you gave her food, so. And she seemed seriously smitten, so the entire theatre department is probably voting for you.”

“She was not smitten,” Peggy grumbles. “She wanted food.”

“I went to middle school with her, Peg.” Colleen shrugs as well as she can with Peggy’s head on her shoulder. “I know the girl.”

“Why aren’t you closer?” Peggy asks, staring at the wall. Colleen half-shrugs again.

“Gloria.”

“Oh.” Peggy swallows. “You never told me what happen—”

“No point,” Colleen says softly. She looks down at her fingernails.

“Are you still—“

“I _shouldn’t_ be.”

They’re quiet for a bit.  Peggy thinks about asking again, but decides not to. Colleen obviously doesn’t want to talk about it right now. Peggy’s not sure she ever will.

“If Dottie wins, I’m staging a coup d’etat,” Peggy mutters after a few moments, to break the silence. “She doesn’t even—“

“Peggy,” Colleen whines. “You’re going to jinx it. Shut up.”

 

 

“They actually got voting booths?” Gloria asks, her jaw dropping open.

“Close your mouth, you look like a fish,” Carol snaps. Gloria closes her mouth and rolls her eyes. Carol snorts.  “Who are you voting for, Angie?”

Angie swallows. “Dottie beat me out for that one role once. Can’t let her win.”

“Good reasoning,” Carol agrees, and pulls Angie towards the line. “Gloria?”

“I’m going to go find us a table,” Gloria mutters and shoves past Stephen Yauch to get in the cafeteria, who glares after her.

“What’s up with her?” Angie asks, wrinkling her nose.

“There.” Carol nudges Angie with her elbow, and points over to the other side of the hall.

Colleen O’Brien’s there, chattering animatedly with some tall, lanky guy that Angie’s never actually seen before. Angie’s eyes flicker around. No Peggy. Her gaze goes back to Colleen. “Still?”

Angie bites her lip, suddenly uncomfortable. “Let’s just vote and go eat, okay? I’m hungry.”

Carol shrugs. “Sure.”

Angie ducks into a booth, types in her Student ID number, and taps the little box next to Peggy’s name. _Thank you for voting!_ The screen proclaims, with patriotic little red, white, and blue confetti. Angie scoffs at the irony and steps out of the booth.

“Can I trust you did the right thing?” Someone asks, and Angie whips around, only to see Colleen grinning down at her.

“Geez, O’Brien,” Angie says. “When’d you get so tall?”

Colleen rolls her eyes. “You vote for Peggy?”

“Yup,” Angie nods. “I have beef with Dottie.”

Raising an eyebrow, Colleen looks at her. “Seriously?”

Angie grimaces. “Long story.”

Colleen hesitates for a moment, like she’s afraid to open her mouth. “So you and Peg—“

“Angela,” Carol calls, stepping out from behind her booth. “Let’s go.” She threads her arm through Angie’s, and starts to pull her towards the door to the cafeteria.

“Okay,” Angie says, and looks back at smiles at Colleen. “See you.”

Colleen nods and half-waves, and then Carol pulls Angie back around. “What’d she want?”

“Nothing,” Angie says. “What’s it to you?”

Carol sighs. “I just—Gloria. I mean, she hasn’t liked Colleen ever since they broke up, but lately—”

“Did she ever tell you what happened?” Angie pushes the door open to the cafeteria. The smell of fried food, slightly stale, rises in her nose.

“Angie!” Gloria calls from a table in the corner, and Angie and Carol both whip around, and trade looks like they’re guilty. Angie sits down next to Gloria, dropping her bag on the floor. “So, did you vote for Peggy Carter and all the great things she is?”

“You’re not bitter at all,” Carol remarks brightly and unpacks her lunch box. “What did Peggy Carter ever do to you?”

Gloria blushes, and sinks her gaze. It’s the same look she always gets on her face when Colleen—Angie’s pulse quickens. Oh. “You don’t think her and Colleen—“ Angie asks, then stops, because she feels ridiculous.

“Oh, absolutely,” Gloria says, waving her hand. “They’re always together—”

“You know, Gloria,” Carol says, munching on a chicken leg, “some people have this kind of platonic relationship with other people that is normally referred to as a _friendship_.”

“You’re hilarious,” Gloria deadpans. “Really, truly.” Carol shrugs, and Gloria breathes in through her teeth. “They’re attached at the hip!”

“I thought Peggy was dating that Edwin guy,” Carol says, wrinkling her brow.

“What, just because they’re both English?” Gloria scoffs. “What a brilliant observation, Carol. Please tell us more of your compelling evidence.”

“Is there anyone Peggy Carter isn’t dating?” Angie snaps, uncharacteristically, and Gloria and Carol stop squabbling and stare at her.

“You alright, Angie?” Gloria asks, a laugh edging in on her voice.

“Fine,” Angie says, through her teeth. “Can we stop acting we live in some gossip magazine?”

Carol actually starts to laugh, setting her chicken leg down. “Aw, Ang—”

“Don’t you dare, Carol.” Angie’s turning red. Shit.

“You’re so cute when you get jealous,” Carol continues. “Isn’t she cute, Gloria?”

“Oh, my god,” Angie groans and puts her face in her hands. “I’m not jeal—“

“You’re about as subtle as—well, something that’s not very subtle,” Gloria says dryly. “Really, Angie, at least try to tone it down.”

Angie stiffens and looks up. “There’s nothing to tone down.”

Gloria bumps her shoulder. “At least you’ve eaten her cupcakes?”

Carol throws at chip at Gloria while Angie groans and slaps her arm.

 

 

The intercom squawks on the middle of Calculus. “Can we have Margaret Carter in the office?” A voice warbles.

Howard Stark shoots Peggy a glance as she passes him. “What’d you do, Margaret?” He asks.

 Peggy shoots him the harshest glare she can muster. “I’m about to punch someone,” she says brightly. Angie snorts from her seat.

“Peggy, no violence in my classroom,” Dooley calls from the blackboard.

“Yes, sir,” Peggy says with mock enthusiasm, leaving the room.

“Hey, Margaret,” a high, sickly-sweet voice greets her when she’s in the hall. Peggy grits her teeth. _Dottie._

“Dorothy,” Peggy says, just as pleasantly. She turns around to look at Dottie, who’s truly towering over her in the empty hall. “Skipping class?”

“Got called to the office, actually,” Dottie says, with an expression that’s really far too innocent. “I hope everything’s alright.”

 “I’m on my way there too now, actually.” Peggy groans inwardly. This is terrible. They’re probably going to be told who won the election, so it’s not too big of a shock when the announce it over the loudspeakers at the end of the day, and if Dottie won—Peggy refuses to believe it, of course, but _if—_ she will gloat all the way back to class, and Peggy might actually punch someone before the day is up.

“Ladies,” Principal Coulson says when they get to his office after several seconds of intense, awkward silence. “Please, have a seat.”

Dottie smiles at him shyly; Peggy keeps her face carefully neutral.

“So, the election results are in,” Coulson says, shifting awkwardly in his seat. Dear God, Peggy thinks, can’t we just get this over with.

“And?” Dottie asks excitedly.

“Well.” He’s shifting again. Peggy’s heart is hammering in her chest. Please, she thinks. Please please please please please. “We had a bit of a situation.”

“A situation, sir?” Peggy can’t stop herself from blurting out the question. “What do you mean by that?”

“It was very close,” Coulson starts, casting a pitiful glance towards the both of them. “Ten votes, I think. We’ve never had this narrow a margin before...” his voice trails off. “Well, normally, we have the Student Council appoint the Vice President, but since the vote was so close, the VP is just going to be the runner up this year.”

Don’t look at Dottie, Peggy wills herself, don’t look at Dottie—fuck. There’s a smirk on her thin lips, and she’s staring at Coulson with the utmost respect and attention.

“So, congrats. Peggy, you won, Dottie, you’re VP.”

Ha. Peggy has to hold back a triumphant grin. Dottie had her little gang of intimidating people, but they couldn’t even secure a twenty-vote lead.

“Great job, both of you,” Coulson says, smiling. “Everyone was very impressed with the effort you put into your campaigns.”

“Thank you, Mr. Coulson,” Peggy says, careful not to look at Dottie.

“I can’t wait to start hearing what you girls come up with.” Coulson claps his hands together, then look at his watch. “Uh, you should probably get back to class.”

Peggy avoids looking at Dottie until they’re in the hall, alone, and when she finally done, Dottie doesn’t even look that pissed.

“Congrats, Peggy,” she says, with that smile that makes Peggy cringe. “I’m sure we’ll have a blast working together!”

“Thank you, Dottie,” Peggy replies, and smiles as genuinely as she can. “Congratulations to you, too.”

Dottie disappears into a classroom and doesn’t look back. Peggy sighs, casts a glance around the hall, and steps back into Dooley’s classroom.

“What happened?” Angie whispers once Peggy gets to her seat.

“I got expelled,” Peggy says, with as much drama in her voice as humanely possible.

“No, you didn’t,” Angie scoffs, a tad bit too loudly. Dooley shoots them a warning look.

“Okay, I didn’t get expelled.” Peggy considers telling her for a moment, then decides she wants to see her reaction when the announcement comes on. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Ladies!” Dooley looks up from his grading and glares over at them. “I’m givin’ you time to finish your homework. I’m sure you’ve all got plenty to do on a Thursday night, so stop blabbering, okay?”

Peggy and Angie nod in unison.

The intercom crackles on about twenty minutes later. A peppy sophomore cheerfully recites the announcements, then Coulson’s talking through the speaker.

“I’m pleased to announce that your President this year will be—“ Here, he pauses, probably for dramatic effect. Peggy rolls her eyes. “Margaret Carter!” Howard whoops, loudly and obnoxiously, and Angie turns around and grins at Peggy.

“I guess the bribery worked, then.”

“Dorothy Underwood will be stepping in as Vice President,” Coulson continues. “Have a good afternoon, everyone!”

The intercom clicks off.

“So, you and Dottie, huh?” Angie asks, scooching her chair closer to Peggy’s desk. “You two get along?”

“I suppose we’ll find out,” Peggy says, honestly.

 

 

Colleen squeals so loudly that Peggy thinks her eardrums are going to burst.

“Dear God, Colleen, won’t you keep it down,” Peggy says, eyes flickering around the hall.

“You won!” Colleen laughs, and Peggy thinks she’s about to start doing some random cheerleading routine in the middle of the hall.  “I knew you would win!”

“All thanks to you.” Peggy smiles. Colleen grins back, then pulls Peggy in for a hug.

“You won, you won, you won,” Colleen sings, drumming her hands on Peggy’s back with the rhythm. “Even though you won’t let me be your First Lady, you bitch.”

“Oh, don’t take it personally,” Peggy quips. “I just don’t think you’d be cut out for all that.”

Colleen pulls back and lightly slaps Peggy on the arm. “I was thinking I’d be less of a Lemonade Lucy and more of an Eleanor Roosevelt—“

“You’re still not my First Lady,” Peggy says flatly. “You’ll be Prime Minister. Or something. I can’t even assign Student Council positions, why does it matter?”

Gloria, walking by, nudges Carol with her elbow. “See, I told you they’re dating,” she whispers. “Look at them.”

“They’re not dating,” Carol says, louder now that Colleen and Peggy are out of earshot. “Peggy’s not dating anyone, she’s way too busy.”

“Weren’t you just saying that Peggy’s dating Edwin Jarvis?” Gloria rolls her eyes.

“I said that to annoy Angie,” Carol confesses. Gloria laughs, the sound at the back of her throat. “No, seriously,” Carol says. “Angie gets so jealous, it’s honestly hilarious.”

“What’s hilarious?” Angie asks, walking towards them from the side.

“Nothing,” Carol and Gloria say, nearly in unison. Angie glances at them suspiciously.

“Nothing,” she repeats, under her breath.”Totally believable. For actors, you both have terrible poker faces.”

“We can’t all be as talented as you, Angie,” Carol teases.

Angie rolls her eyes. “You’re so funny.”

“You know it,” Carol grins, and bumps Angie playfully. “So, you heard about Peggy?”

“What about her?” Angie asks, a little bit too quickly. Gloria barely manages to restrain a giggle.

“The election,” Carol says, like it’s obvious.

“It was announced to the entire school, Carol,” Angie replies.

“I’m aware of that,” Carol scoffs. “Just wanted to see if you were paying attention.”

“I was.”

“You’re always paying attention when it comes to Peggy Carter,” Carol sing-songs under her breath and snickers. Angie sighs.

Gloria’s phone beeps. She looks around quickly to see if any teachers are in the hallway—she still hasn’t forgiven Mrs. Fry for that one time freshman year, apparently people can’t even call their parents these days—and, finding it mostly empty, pulls her phone out. “Howard Stark just texted me,” she announces. “He’s throwing a party this weekend while his parents are in Malibu. You wanna go?”

“Why are Howard’s parents in Malibu?” Angie asks incredulously.

“Do you remember that game he designed, like, freshman year?” Gloria looks up from typing furiously on her phone. Angie does. Rhythmically popping bubbles and dancing panda bears, something like that. If the rumors are to be believed, he was wasted as hell when coding it, and somehow, miraculously, it worked. “Well,” Gloria continues, “he made a—a shitload, honestly, a _shitload_ of money off that and now he sends his parents on ridiculous vacations for their anniversaries.”

“Isn’t that clever,” Angie mutters, then pulls out her phone. “He didn’t text me. You sure he wants us there?”

“He says you two can come,” Gloria says, waving her phone in front of Angie’s face. “Do you want to go?”

 “Sure,” Angie says, still glancing at her phone. “Holy shit. Did Peggy just announce her and Colleen are dating?”

“Let me see.” Gloria peers at Angie’s phone. “You follow her campaign twitter?”

The hint of a blush rises in Angie’s cheeks. “Maybe.”

“No, you do,” Gloria giggles. “Carol, Peggy said Colleen is her First Lady. Keep telling me they’re not together.”

“It’s probably a joke?” Carol suggests. Angie drags her thumb over the screen absently, and then the page refreshes. “See?” Carol pokes at the screen. “ _I would rather have Jarvis as my first lady than Colleen._ They’re not dating. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous,” Gloria insists, and suddenly she sounds defensive, edging on upset. “They definitely have a thing—”

Carol crosses her arms and casually glances at Angie. “Okay, if anything, this proves that Peggy has a thing with Ed. Please–”

“I think we should go to Howard’s party,” Angie interrupts her. The way this conversation is going, Gloria will just end up ranting about Colleen, and those discussions never turn out pretty.  

“Angie’s right,” Carol agrees, “it’ll be fun.”

Gloria, after hesitating for a moment, accepts the subject change. “As long as no one ends up getting wasted and throwing up on my shoes,” she sighs.

Carol grimaces. “Will you ever get over that?”

Gloria shoots her a look. “No.”  

 

 

“Hey, Peg,” Howard says, draping an arm around Peggy. “How’s it goin’?”

Peggy shrugs his arm off. “What do you want, Howard?”

“Nothing.” Howard nods at Colleen. “Hey, Col.”

“No one calls me that,” Colleen points out. “What do you want, Howard?”

“So friendly around here,” Howard quips. “Anyways. I’m throwing a party this Saturday, wanted to know if you two would like to make an appearance. “

“Sure,” Colleen says brightly, before Peggy can even open her mouth. “Thanks for the invitation.”

“Of course,” Howard says, and smiles. “As long as Mrs. President here doesn’t—“

Peggy (affectionately) pushes him away. “Don’t start.”

“We’ll be there,” Colleen promises.

“Alright,” Howard grins, “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye,” Peggy tells him, then turns to Colleen. “Are you really going to make me go to that?” She asks in a forced whisper.

“Yes,” Colleen says plainly. “You need to start leaving the house for things that don’t go on resumes.”

Peggy rolls her eyes and grits her teeth. “Fine,” she mutters. “I’m driving.”

“Oh, good.” Colleen playfully punches Peggy on the shoulder. “I’m real proud of you, Peg.”

“Thank you,” Peggy smiles fakely. “I really appreciate your support.” Peggy sighs, the smile slipping off her face. “Who else is going?”

They start walking down the hall to get out of school.  Colleen makes some kind of uncommitted sound. “How would I know? We’ll find out when we get there.”

“Can’t we just order in?” Peggy asks. “We can get pizza—”

“You can’t bribe me food with food, Carter.” Colleen shakes her head. “Not this time.”

“It normally works so well,” Peggy remarks, and pouts a little. “D’you want me to pick you up?”

“Thanks, Peg,” Colleen smiles cheerfully. “I’m sure we’ll have a blast.”

“Right,” Peggy nods. “I’ll remind you when you’re miserable Sunday morning.”

“You worry too much,” Colleen says. “What could possibly go wrong?”


	3. part three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “You worry too much,” Colleen says. “What could possibly go wrong?”

As it turns out, not so much, at least for a little bit.

Peggy picks Colleen up at seven, and they drive over to Howard’s house, which is unsurprisingly in the rich part of town. His driveway is long, winding, and already full of parked cars, so they park in the street half a block over and slowly walk to Howard’s house. All of the lawns in the neighborhood are sprawling and manicured, nearly to perfection. The thumping beat of his music increases with each step.

Peggy’s mother, much to Peggy’s surprise, had only raised her eyebrows and requested her daughter be home by one when Peggy told her she was going out with Colleen Saturday night. There were things that her mother expected, Peggy understood, but that didn’t mean she felt comfortable with them. 

“Nervous?” Colleen asks, bumping Peggy’s arm with her elbow.

Shrugging, Peggy kicks a stone on the sidewalk and sends it skittering across the concrete. “This isn’t my first party, you know.”

“Yeah.” Colleen hesitates. “But it’s your first since Steve, right?”

The bass from Howard’s speakers is already unpleasantly pounding in Peggy’s ears, so she doesn’t think she’s heard right for a moment. When she realizes she has, she stops walking for a moment, because it’s too loud, it’s all too loud, and she can’t handle getting closer to the noise.

“Peggy?” Colleen sounds more apologetic than Peggy’s ever heard her.

Ignoring the sharp sting of tears rising in her nose, Peggy smiles weakly. “Sorry,” she says, and keeps walking. “It’s been awhile since I’ve heard his name.”

Silently, they walk on. When they step on Howard’s lawn, the music abruptly turns off, then resumes, thankfully at a much lower volume.

“Should we ring the bell?” Colleen asks when they get to the door. Peggy shrugs, unsure, but the door flies open, and there’s Howard, grinning like his face is about to split in two.

“My favorite ladies!” He sounds truly enthusiastic, and even holds the door open for them. “Make yourselves at home.” They start walking down the hall; Peggy’s pretty sure these are marble floors.

“Why’d you turn the music down?” Colleen asks. “I mean, not that I’m complaining, but—”

“Just made some adjustments,” Howard says, and points to the speakers. They’re actually quite impressive, Peggy has to admit.

“Well, thank God you turned them down,” Peggy remarks, “or else you would’ve managed to blow up someone’s eardrums.”

The doorbell rings, and Howard rushes off to get it, with a quick “Living room’s through there!” shouted over his shoulder. Colleen and Peggy trade a look, then manage to find the living room, where a couple of football players and cheerleaders are loitering around the couches and the pool table set up in a corner.

There aren’t too many people there—well, maybe a fair amount, but not as much as Peggy expected from a Stark party. Not that she’s actually ever been to one of these before. She’s just heard a fair bit about them, from fellow members of the football team, or in the small snippets of conversation she overhears in other classes, and their stories always end in too much noise, too much alcohol.

“What do you want to do?” Colleen asks, out of the corner of her mouth.

“Perhaps we could sit down somewhere?” Peggy suggests. Truth is, they both have very little idea of what they’re supposed to be doing here, but they might as well pretend.

“Good idea.” Colleen nods. “Let’s go, then.”

There’s a black leather couch stretching across an entire wall, but Jack Thompson is currently splayed across almost half of it, so that’s not really an option. The other couch is mostly empty, though, except for Yauch, who’s fairly easy to ignore, anyways, so Peggy nods Colleen over and they go sit, awkwardly crossing their legs in almost  perfect sync.

“Why did we even come here?” Peggy asks, breaking into a nervous laugh. “Really.”

“Because you need to get out of the house more,” Colleen replies. “And I have no one else to hang out with on a Saturday night.”

“See, that’s the problem when you only have one friend,” Peggy remarks, smirking slightly. “Don’t worry, it’s mutual.”

“Hey, Martinelli!” There’s a shout from the couch, and Peggy starts and looks for the source of the noise. Of course it’s Jack Thompson, and when Peggy turns around to see what he’s shouting at, it’s actually Angie, who’s just walked in and looks extremely annoyed.

“Oh, crap,” Colleen whispers, and buries her face in Peggy’s shoulder. “Hide me.”

“What?”

“If Angie’s here, Gloria’s here.” Colleen’s voice is muffled. “Which means that I need to hide.”

“Why are you so afraid of her?” Peggy considers (gently) removing Colleen from her shoulder, but decides to be merciful.

“I’m not wasted enough to tell you that story,” Colleen says, voice surprisingly bitter.

“Hey, Martinelli!” Jack repeats, standing up. “Why don’t you come over here?”

“How much has he had to drink?” Casting a sympathetic glance towards Angie, Peggy grits her teeth. “I swear, if he says one more word—”

Of course he does.

“Come on, Angie, it’ll be fun—”

That’s enough. “Jack!” Peggy yells, and enjoys the shock on his face a little bit more than she should. Colleen lifts her head at the noise. “Has anyone ever told you that everything you say is a waste of oxygen?”

“Look, Carter,” Jack motions vaguely. “Why don’t you just take a deep breath and calm down?” “Do you want me to talk to Coach Phillips?” Peggy asks. “Because I will.”

“You can’t—”

“There are other people with decent throwing skills out there, Thompson,” Peggy snaps. “People who don’t make fools of themselves every time they open their mouths.”

With that, Jack decides that he’s either too drunk or too tired to deal with Peggy, so he sits back down, stretching himself out as much as possible and thumping his feet down on Howard’s coffee table.

Relieved, Angie walks over to the couch as quickly as possible and sits down next to Peggy and Colleen on the couch. “He always tries to talk to me,” Angie says quietly, clearly uncomfortable. “Whenever he sees me alone, it’s just—ugh. So obnoxious.”

“Where are your friends?” Colleen looks down at her fingernails. There’s an unspoken  _And where’s Gloria?_ in her question, but Angie doesn’t acknowledge it and only shrugs slightly.

“Getting drinks.” Angie is distracting. Angie’s shoulder is pressing against Peggy. Angie shifts her weight on the couch and accidentally pokes Peggy with her elbow, and Peggy yelps and jumps a little. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine.” Peggy’s voice is slightly higher pitched than usual, no matter how much she tries to stop it Colleen coughs slightly, and Peggy shoots her a warning look because while she does love the girl, she has little to no feel for discretion or subtlety. “I’m just—”

“A little ticklish?” Angie finishes for her, and Peggy blushes, trying not to look at Colleen. When she does, of course, Colleen’s snickering.

“Hey, O’Brien.” It’s Howard. He leans his hands on the armrest, looking at the three of them on the couch. “I’m playing with a new robot. Wanna see?”

“What does it do?” Colleen asks, trying to seem like she’s not interested. It’s not working.

“You won’t care what it does,” Howard points out, and Peggy has to admit he’s right. Colleen doesn’t really build stuff for purpose—she tinkers. There are bolts and screwdrivers and all sorts of metallic, complicated-looking equipment that Peggy doesn’t even know where to begin with scattered around Colleen’s half of the garage, so whatever Howard’s working on, Colleen cares. “Besides, I need your help with the programming.”

Colleen grins, eager to show Howard up. “I’ll come take a look at it,” she says and gets up, trying to stay nonchalant.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Peggy’s ready to be confused while Howard and Colleen talk robots, but Colleen shakes her head.

“No, you can stay here with Angie,” Colleen smiles sweetly, and, while Peggy’s still blinking at her in disbelief, disappears into the hall with Howard.

Cheeks burning, Peggy settles back onto the couch. They sit in awkward silence for a few moments.

Finally, Angie clears her throat. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

Angie motions uncomfortably. “Jack.”

Realizing what she means, Peggy nods. “Of course.” She shoots Angie a grin. “I’ve never actually met anyone who likes him.”

Angie’s laugh is light and cheery, but genuine. “Doesn’t surprise me. He’s been trying to get in my pants since freshman year.”

“Your type isn’t loud, obnoxious, and misogynistic?” Peggy can’t help but smirk, just a tiny bit. “What a shock.”

“My type isn’t exactly male, English,” Angie says, quickly, with a hint of nerves. Her cheeks are tinged with red when Peggy turns to look at her. “I’m sorry. Is that a problem?”

Something in Peggy’s stomach kicks into gear, a sort of potential for excitement. “No, no, of course not,” she says, careful not to stumble over words in her haste to reply. “That’d be—you know—” Angie’s looking at her doubtfully, and Peggy’s trying to think of how to word this “—well, rather hypocritical, I suppose,” she finishes.

Not quite knowing what to say, Angie ducks her head and tries not to grin.  

There’s a loud, high-pitched laugh from the hall, almost verging on a cackle. Peggy strains to hear the voice that accompanies it, and realizes with horror that it’s none other than dear Dorothy Underwood, who is honestly the last person on Earth Peggy feels like talking to right now. “Shit,” Peggy curses under her breath, and sinks down lower into the couch cushions.

“What?” Panicked, Angie looks around. Peggy has to smile, in spite of herself. It’s kind of cute.

“It’s not bad,” Peggy sighs, “it’s just—”

With that, Dottie walks into the living room, followed by a surly looking boy that Peggy recognizes as Johann—something? Ivchenko? Fenhoff? there seems to be some sort of confusion regarding his name—and Lorraine, who’s honestly one of the most terrifying people Peggy’s ever met. They talk at the door, briefly, and Lorraine and Johann disappear back into the hall.

“Ooh,” Angie grimaces. “It’s your partner in crime.”

“Absolutely not,” Peggy coughs, and tries to shield her face. “We don’t—“ it’s too late. Dottie’s seen her, and is walking in their direction on long, colt-like legs.

“Peggy!” Dottie crows, and plops down onto the couch next to her. “What brings you here?”

“Colleen,” Peggy replies. “She thought—well. _I_  thought I’d just, you know, hang out a bit, talk to peop—”

“Aw.” Dottie’s voice is patronizing, so patronizing that Peggy vaguely considers stomping her foot on Dottie’s, on accident, of course. “That’s so sweet.”

Angie makes a panicked noise from next to Peggy. “Shit,” she whispers.

“What’s wrong?” When Peggy looks over at her, Angie seems near tears. She’s rooting around in her purse, throwing packs of tissue and lipgloss onto the couch.

“I can’t find my wallet,” Angie says frantically, “my debit card was in there, and sixty dollars, my mother is going to  _kill_ me.” Her voice breaks.

“You sure you had it?” Dottie asks, propping herself up on the couch with her elbow so she can get a better look at Angie. “Maybe you left it in the car—”

“I have to find it.” Wiping her eyes, Angie stands up from the couch. “Sorry, I’ll see you later—”

“I’ll help you look,” Peggy says quickly, not eager to be left alone with Dottie. She shoots an awkward smile at her and follows Angie out of the room. “Where’d you see it last?” She asks, when they’re alone in the hallway.

Angie’s shoulders are shaking. In the dim light, it takes Peggy a moment to realize that she’s actually laughing. “My wallet’s in my pocket.” Peggy raises an eyebrow; Angie giggles and continues. “Sorry. Couldn’t deal with Dottie anymore.”

“And you decided the best way to remove yourself from the situation was to burst into tears?” Peggy shakes her head. She’s kind of impressed.

“Acting practice,” Angie shrugs. “And this gave you an excuse to leave, so hey. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you.” Peggy has to laugh, really. “That was quite the performance.”

“I’ve been playing trees since second grade,” Angie says lightly.

“Well, with what I just saw, you should be on Broadway.” Peggy’s eyes are shining.

“You flatter me,” Angie laughs, and, because she has no self control, apparently, touches Peggy’s arm lightly, like she’s good at this. “Do you still want to help me ‘look for my wallet?’”

“Oh, of course,” Peggy says, nodding very earnestly. “Where do you think you saw it last?”

 

Gloria has her arm slung around Carol’s neck and is enthusiastically explaining the plot of  _The Importance of Being Earnest_ to Dan Sousa.

“Angie’s going to think we disappeared,” Carol whispers into Gloria’s ear.

Gloria just waves her hand and shakes her head. “It’s only been a few minutes,” she explains, loudly. “Angela can take care of herself—”

“I actually think it’s been longer than that.” Tugging at Gloria’s arm, Carol shoots Sousa an overly bright smile. “Sorry, Dan. Come on, Gloria.”

Gloria sighs when Carol pulls her away, steering her towards the kitchen. “What was that about?”

“Were you really going to leave Angie alone at a Stark party?” Carol asks dubiously. “Come on, Glo, that’s cold.”

“Like you’re some cuddly puppy.” Gloria grimaces, and then her expression softens. “Sorry, I’m not—I just—” she sighs, again.

“Okay, you’re bitter,” Carol says, “But Angie—”

“I’m not mad at her,” Gloria mutters. “It’s the—the Colleen thing, I—” she stops, opens her bag, and pulls a bottle out. “I’m bitter.”

“Is that your vodka- Gatorade mix?” Carol scoffs. “No. Gloria, no.”

“Not wasted enough for this.” Gloria takes a generous swig out of the bottle. “Seriously, I’m fine, I’m sleeping over at Angie’s, her parents never notice  _anything._  It doesn’t matter.”

Carol bites her lip, worried.

 

“So, what does the Student Body President even do?”

Somehow, Angie and Peggy have ended up on the back steps of Howard’s house, looking over his pool and, in the distance, tennis courts.

“Send emails,” Peggy replies honestly. “About prom and such, organize pep rallies—”

“So we get to see you in the bald eagle getup?” Angie cracks a grin. “This might be the one assembly I actually end up going to.”

“Absolutely not,” Peggy coughs. “I just get to choose who goes in the suit.” She pauses. “Are you volunteering?”

Angie stares at her skeptically for a second.  “Don’t you dare,” she warns. Peggy can’t take it anymore and breaks out in laughter. “Peggy!”

Peggy smiles. “Kidding,” she says sweetly.

“Good,” Angie huffs. “Can you do anything about the musical budget?”

“Maybe,” Peggy shrugs. “It depends.”

“I’m going to need leverage on you, aren’t I,” Angie complains. “Any dark secrets I can blackmail you with?”

“Angela Martinelli,” Peggy leans back, using her hand to prop herself up. “Are you threatening me?”

Angie clears her throat. “Uh, possibly?”

“Won’t work,” Peggy whispers confidentially. “I’m untouchable.” Angie giggles. They fall into silence. Angie considers breaking it after a few moments, but when she looks over, Peggy’s staring off into the distance, towards the tennis courts, gaze lost, and Angie feels ridiculous and closes her mouth.

Angie fiddles with her shoelace and sighs—she can’t stay quiet for too long, it’s uncomfortable after a few minutes. “Everything alright, English?”

Peggy seems to snap out of something and turns to her, tilting her head. “Fine, Angie,” she says, and relaxes a little bit. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

_Quack. Quack._

Angie starts and looks for the source of the noise.

_Quack. Quack._

“What is that?” Peggy’s covering her mouth, laughing. “Please don’t tell me Howard has ducks.” Angie realizes it’s coming from her phone and pulls it out of her bag, staring at the screen in exasperation.

“Carol changes her ringtone on my phone weekly,” she explains, and accepts the call. “Carol?” There’s vague murmuring on the other end of the line. Peggy tries not to listen. “I’m outside,” Angie says, annoyed. “You didn’t show up for, like, ever?”  _Sorry,_ she mouths to Peggy, who shrugs. “Yeah, I know, where are you?” Angie continues, then – “ _what?”_

Peggy shoots her a glance in worry.

“Gloria—okay, I’ll be there, Peggy’s with me—I got it, don’t worry, just—hold on.” Angie hangs up. “Gloria and Colleen are yelling at each other. They’re in the kitchen.”

“What?” Peggy’s up already, scrambling towards the door. “She was building robots with Howard, I don’t know how she—” Peggy stops, upset, and yanks the door open. She walks down the hall as fast as possible without running, Angie trailing only slightly behind her.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” Angie can hear Gloria’s voice from the main hallway.  When they get to the kitchen, everyone is staring at them. Gloria’s face is bright red. Colleen’s hair is messy, and Peggy know it’s because she’s been running her hands through it like she always does when she’s upset.

“I never said,” Colleen says desperately, “I never said it was your fault, I just—“

“Look, whatever your explanation is, I don’t care, it wasn’t even that big of a deal—”

“Excuse me?” Colleen clenches her fist, then loosens it, resting her hand on the counter. “Is that really for you to decide—”

Angie looks to Peggy for any indication of what to do, because Colleen and Gloria are both breathless and shaking and looking like they’re about to cry. Peggy’s not looking at Angie, though, and after another moment, she walks towards Colleen and grabs her arm.

“Colleen? We’re leaving,” Peggy says, slowly but clearly. “We’re going home, there’s no point--”

“Just get your new girlfriend to drag you away,” Gloria remarks pointedly, and Peggy turns around, like she can’t believe that just happened.

“Excuse me?” Peggy asks sharply. “I don’t know what happened, but I know that  _I’ve_ never done anything to you, and whatever happened with Colleen was over two years ago—you’d think you could get over something—whatever you’re doing, it’s entirely unnecessary, so just stop. Please, stop , because it’s honestly just obnoxious at this point, it’s so immature—”

“Peggy,” Angie says, without any sort of inflection in her voice, and Peggy stops and clears her throat and turns around on her heel, grasping Colleen’s arm and pulling her out with her.

Colleen doesn’t say anything, not until they’ve cleared Howard’s gigantic lawn and Peggy’s unlocking the car door and holding it open so Colleen can get in. “Sorry,” she says then, finally. Her voice is thick.

Peggy sighs and turns the key in the ignition. “Mind telling me what happened?”

“I just bumped into her,” Colleen sighs, “literally, I was getting a drink, and I bumped into her, I didn’t even hit her that hard, and she just started laying into me and I didn’t know what to do and then she started talking about how she always knew I was a—I don’t even know, it happened really fast, I don’t know what’s going on with her.” Colleen’s silent for a moment. “I don’t know,” she repeats, and Peggy has no idea what to say.

The road is deserted at this time of night.

“And where were you?” Colleen asks quietly, after a few minutes.

“I was outside,” Peggy says, deflecting. “You were with Howard. I didn’t think I had to—”

“No, it’s fine.” Colleen sounds tired. “Thank you for showing up when you did.”

“Of course,” Peggy replies, and drives on.


	4. part four

“I think I’m going to quit the cheerleading team,” Colleen announces suddenly as they’re pulling into Peggy’s driveway. It’s almost midnight; they stopped at Wendy’s and got frosties, silently slurping them the entire way home.

“Why?” Peggy asks, surprised. Colleen’s been doing cheerleading since before they knew each other—always with the ponytail and the random high kicks in the hallways.

“It’s not fun anymore,” she says flatly, and Peggy shrugs. “Is your mom going to care that we’re home so late?”

“We’re before curfew.” Peggy checks her watch. “We’ve an hour to go, as long as we don’t make a racket coming in—I think we can handle that, even at this time of night.”

They get out of the car.  Colleen clears her throat. “So, how was Angie?”

“Fine,” Peggy replies quickly, “she’s very nice, why?”

There’s a hint of a smirk on Colleen’s face. “‘She’s very nice,’” Colleen mimics, and Peggy rolls her eyes. “Not that she isn’t,” Colleen says, suddenly serious. “I think I’d talk to her more if—” Colleen stops, but both of them know what she means. Gloria—the strange weight hanging between all of them that needs to stay unspoken. It’s not that what happened was probably so bad, Peggy reasons, the fallout was the worst—or at least she hopes so.

Privately, Peggy decides to stay away from Angie, or maybe not to make their interactions so obvious. Associations—that’s where the drama starts and people start leaving, Peggy thinks, and she’s made it so far without losing (more) people. Colleen is her best friend—the most important presence Peggy thinks she’ll probably ever have in her life, aside from Steve—but whatever this strange, ambiguous, slightly random relationship with Angie is, she doesn’t want to give it up, either.

“Earth to Peggy?” Colleen sounds uncharacteristically timid as she taps her on the shoulder. “Peggy? Can you unlock the door? It’s getting kind of cold.”

Peggy snaps out of it, shaking her head. It is cold, too cold for this early in September. “Sorry,” she says, and gives Colleen the key. “I’m just tired.”

“It’s okay.” Colleen laughs a little bit. “Daydreaming about anyone in particular?”

“More like night-dreaming,” Peggy sniffs. “It’s late. We should go to bed.”

Colleen’s laugh is deeper now—they know each other too well for this, for any semblance of dishonesty between them. Peggy has to glare at her to get her to shut up.

The house is quiet. Peggy gets the sudden urge to move across the floor completely noiselessly. It’s not working too well. Creak. Old floorboards—Colleen has to stifle giggles. They make it upstairs to Peggy’s room, and everything seems normal, at least until they’re lying next to each on Peggy’s bed, shoulders almost touching, and Colleen’s sniffing and breathing unevenly and Peggy realizes with a start that she’s crying.

“Colleen,” Peggy says softly, and props herself up with her elbow. “Are you alright?”

The girl—and she really is just a girl in that moment, she’s never seemed more like a stranger—shakes her head and turns away. “I just—I didn’t even fuck it up that badly with her. At least I thought I didn’t.” Her voice is thick. “I wanted her to—it doesn’t matter.” Colleen rolls back around, looks up at the ceiling.

Peggy breathes in sharply. “You can talk to me, you know.” It feels like the millionth time she’s said it. Colleen’s weight is shifting on the mattress. A siren goes off a few streets over, blaring in the night.

Only silence otherwise.

“We all have things to get over,” she whispers a few minutes later. Peggy, not quite knowing what to say to that, pretends to be asleep.

 

 

Carol slams on the brakes. “Jesus—” she hisses, and watches as a deer bounds away from the car. “What the fuck?”

“You almost killed Bambi,” Angie shakes her head. “Gosh, Carol. Get it together.”

“More like Bambi’s mom,” Carol mutters, and Angie gasps in offense. The car starts moving again, past trees and deserted streets.  

“Are we there yet?” Gloria’s eyelids are drooping shut.

“No.” Carol turns, past the Wendy’s. “Am I dropping you or Angie off first?”

“Both of us,” Gloria yawns. “I’m sleeping over at Angie’s—”

“Wait, what?” Angie turns to look at Gloria in the backseat. “Oh, fuck. I’m so sorry, Glo. I forgot it’s Saturday—”

“But you said I could,” Gloria protests, suddenly wide awake.

“Well, you can,” Angie says, sounding apologetic, “if you want to go to Mass with us at eight.”

Gloria shakes her head. “I’ll pass.” She pauses. “Carol? Can I sleep over?”

“Sure,” Carol says, then grins. “I’m definitely not going to church.”

They drive the rest of the way back in silence, Angie silently cursing Howard for living in such a far-off part of town because it means she’s going to be home later. It’s not that her mom is going to be angry when her daughter stumbles into the kitchen at one, she’ll actually probably be asleep, but Angie is expected to be up and in her Sunday best by seven-thirty sharp, or seven-fifteen if she wants to eat breakfast. Angie grimaces at the thought of six hours of sleep on a Saturday night, which she knows will cause a pounding headache to accompany family lunch after Mass.

The car slows to a stop outside of Angie’s tiny house. “Here we are,” Carol announces, and Angie snaps out of it and grabs her bag.

“I’m sorry,” she says, turning to look at Gloria. “Really. I forgot.”

Gloria shrugs. “Whatever.” Her expression softens. “Have fun with Jesus.”

Rolling her eyes, Angie gets out of the car. “Thanks for the ride, Carol,” she calls softly over her shoulder, and walks up the path towards the front door.

Carol waits until Angie disappears into the house, then steps on the gas pedal. “What the hell was that with Colleen, Gloria?” She asks, maybe a bit harsher than she should, but Gloria’s carefully evaded mention or discussion of the situation all night and it’s getting annoying. “Can you not exist in the same room anymore?”

“She’s everywhere these days!” Gloria bursts out. “And now Angie’s getting to be besties with Peggy—”

“They’ve been talking for about a week, what are you even—”

“She makes me feel guilty, like I’ve done something, I don’t even regret—”

“Maybe if you’d told us what happened, we’d be able to help—”

“It’s petty, okay?” Gloria sits back in her seat and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “It’s stupid, petty ninth-grader crap and it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to talk to her.”

Carol scoffs.

“It escalated,” Gloria says through her teeth. “I wish she’d just get over it—grow up a little, you know?”

“Look, Gloria.” Carol sighs. “Don’t rip out her throat next time. Less than a year and you’re both out of here. You can do that, right?”

Gloria rubs her forehead. “I can try.”

 

 

Angie oversleeps, because of course she does. It’s seven twenty-five when her mother comes charging into her room. “Angela!” She shouts, and shakes her daughter by the shoulders. “This is what happens when you go to parties—you sleep too long.”

Wincing, Angie lifts her head. Her hand scrambles to check her phone, to see why her damn alarm didn’t ring—

Oh. It’s not plugged in. Angie presses the on button and watches as the empty battery screen lights up. “My phone died,” she mumbles, still half-asleep. “Sorry.”

Her mother fires back in fast Italian, ending with “—we’re leaving in ten minutes. You need to be at the door. Understand?”

So much for breakfast. Angie nods and lets her head fall back onto the pillow. There’s a pattering of footsteps coming towards the bed, and then Angie’s head hits the mattress. Her eyes snap open—her mother is still standing over her, holding the pillow in her hand. “Get up,” she tells her, and Angie sighs and swings her feet onto the floor.

Exactly twelve minutes later—much to Mrs. Martinelli’s chagrin—they’re all piled into the car. Angie’s brother Piero’s elbow is dangerously close to her ribs. Her sister Francesca is squirming next to him. Angie’s head droops against the window, and her father starts the car.

“Ouch!” Angie yelps. Piero, pulling his elbow back from Angie’s side, grins.

“Just trying to wake you up.” He’s grinning widely, sweetly—their great aunts used to lap it up and give him extra candy for it.

“That was cute when you were five,” Angie says, rolling her eyes. “Doesn’t work anymore.”

“What were you even doing out so late?” Piero asks, kicking the front seat with his awkwardly long legs. “You don’t have friends.”

“Mature,” Angie replies, just as their father turns around to glare at them.

“ _Parla italiano, figliolo_ ,” he sighs. “And stop kicking my seat.”

“ _Si, Papà,_ ” Piero says, then continues in Italian. “So it was a party, right?” Angie says nothing, and he grins widely. “Was it a date?”

“Piero,” Angie says, as nicely as possible. “Shut up.”

“It was a date!” Piero says triumphantly, “and you’re turning red—you really do need a date with Jesus today, Angie. It’s good you got out of bed on time.” He starts guffawing, and only stops when Mrs. Martinelli catches his eye in the rearview mirror.

“Leave your sister alone,” Mrs. Martinelli says, then pauses. “Did you meet a boy, Angela?”

Sighing, Angie shakes her head. “No boys, Ma. Sorry.”

“Boys are stupid,” Francesca says and crosses her arms. “I hate them.”

“Same,” Angie mutters, “same.”

 

 

Colleen tries to turn a pancake and fails.

“That’s not going to work,” Peggy says from the kitchen table, nonchalantly flipping through the Sunday paper.

“I’m going to fling a pancake at you,” Colleen replies, trying to concentrate. “And stop pretending like you’re reading the news.”

Peggy sighs and puts the paper down. “Why won’t you let me make breakfast?”

The laughter that follows is less than convincing. “You didn’t tell me you were funny, Peggy.” Colleen manages to maneuver the pancake out of the pan. “Ha! Success.”

“I want the first one!” Peggy says quickly, getting out of the chair and scrambling towards the pancake. “I’m hungry. You’re at my house. I get the first pancake.”

“Fine,” Colleen says and lets Peggy take the plate. “Bon appetit.”

Peggy takes a huge bite. “Fanks.”

“Margaret, darling, you can’t be understood with so much food in your mouth,” Mrs. Carter says from the doorway. “Oh!” She exclaims, noticing Colleen at the stove. “Hello, Colleen.”

Colleen flips another pancake onto a plate and holds it out to Mrs. Carter. “Good morning. Do you want some breakfast?”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Carter says and accepts the plate. “Peggy, must you take such big bites?”

“I’m hungry.” Peggy swallows. “Besides, it means I can eat more food faster.” She grins at Colleen, who rolls her eyes and turns back to the stove. Mrs. Carter sits down and –subtly—takes a giant bite out of her own pancake.

After adjusting the small stack on pancakes so that they’re perfect, Colleen carries it over to the table and sets it down. “Breakfast,” she beams, and sits down across from Peggy, who promptly takes another one from the pile. “I don’t know how you have any food left in this house,” Colleen remarks, “with the way you two eat.”

Mother and daughter trade a slightly-guilty-but-not-quite look, and Peggy shrugs slightly. “Well, while Dad’s on his business trip—”

“He’s just such a health snob.” Mrs. Carter rolls his eyes, then gets up. “Tea?” Without waiting for an answer, she puts the kettle on and opens the cabinet, pulling out a teabag. “How’s your father, Colleen?”

“Fine!” Colleen smiles brightly. “The garage is getting real busy these days; he’s doing good.”

“Glad to hear it.” The kettle starts whistling, and Mrs. Carter looks around in surprise. “Oh, that was fast—so, what’s the plan for today, girls? I know you’ve got a test on Tuesday, Peggy, but if you’ve got it under control, I’m not going to make you study.”

“I think we’re going to Colleen’s,” Peggy says. “We’re going to start planning next week’s waffle sale—or pre-planning it, I suppose.” She shudders. “I have my first council meeting with the Margaret and Dorothy Administration tomorrow, with Dorothy lamentably present.”

“That’s that blonde girl?” Mrs. Carter asks, pouring the boiling water into a teapot. “She’s very tall.”

Colleen clears her throat. “The other blonde girl,” she corrects. “I’m offended.”

“Sorry, Colleen,” Mrs. Carter says and carries the teapot over to the table. “Well, I’m sure she’ll be amicable enough in public, right?”

“Let’s hope so,” Peggy says, staring at thin air with a look of vague horror on her face.

 

 

“Dorothy, we do not need seven waffle irons for this single event, what are you even—” Peggy barely restrains herself from slamming her hand on the table. Dottie is infuriating, and she needs to wipe that smirk off her face before Peggy does it for her.

"Why aren't you assuming more people will show up? You should have faith in our waffles." Dottie leans back, the picture of perfect blonde innocence. Colleen, sitting in the corner of the art room, watches the exchange with a dubious look on her face.

Peggy sighs. "Look, I have faith, I just don't want to cause a hassle –"

A sophomore raises his hand, eager to provide input, but lowers it again when he’s still being ignored several seconds later.

Dottie laughs incredulously. "It'll be a hassle when we don't have enough waffles for all the people that will show up, and there will be many people that show up–”

“You just suggested pickles! Won’t we have enough food?”

“If we have more food, we’ll sell more,” Dottie argues, leaning over the table. “It’s motivation. People see a ton of waffles, people want a ton of waffles, obviously.”

Peggy scrunches up her nose. “Or we have a surplus of food and wasted time and resources on a gamble that doesn’t even seem psychologically logical?”

Dottie’s mouth falls into a perfect O, then she recovers. “I’m sensing a little negativity there, Margaret.”

“That would be a good sense of pragmatism, thank you very much—”

Dan Sousa finally decides he’s had enough and clears his throat loudly, then, running out of ideas, bangs his cane against the table. Dottie and Peggy stop squabbling and stare at him, open-mouthed. “Guys—why don’t we decide who’s making posters and writing the announcement so that people even know this is happening?”

Peggy sniffs, stares at him. “You’re perfectly right,” she agrees after a moment. “Alright then. Daniel? Can you organize the marketing campaign?”

“Lorraine can do the posters,” Dottie bursts out. “She’s an artist, and—” she pauses, and they all look over to where Lorraine is napping, her feet up on the table, “—apparently completely useless,” Dottie finishes, decidedly displeased.

“I’ll do marketing,” Daniel says. “I can have posters up by tomorrow, and I’ll put in an announcement for Wednesday.”

Peggy breathes a sigh of relief. Dottie, pacified, twirls a lock of hair around a pencil. Two freshman senators trade a look of disbelief. Colleen’s absentmindedly biting her nails. The room smells sharply of cleaning spray; paint is flaking off the walls. Everyone is busy not looking at each other, and then the bell rings to signal that they have five minutes before the end of lunch and people begin to pack up, grateful they don’t have to sit in the awkward silence anymore.

“Well, that could have gone worse,” Colleen says brightly when she meets Peggy at the door. They turn and begin to walk down to the hall together. “She could’ve hit you over the head with a baseball bat. You could’ve pushed her out of a window.”

“Very funny,” Peggy says. “It’s not like I wasn’t tempted to.” She has the urge to start whining, but suppresses it. “Seven waffle irons are too much, aren’t they?”

Colleen shrugs. “Maybe,” she says as diplomatically as possible. “Let’s just see what Dan comes up with, okay?”

“Okay,” Peggy repeats. “I’ll see you later—I’m going the wrong way.” Colleen nods and walks off, pulling her hair up in a ponytail. Peggy watches her go, then turns around and walks back down the hall. Mr. Dooley’s room is still closed, so Peggy leans her backpack against the wall and sits down next to it.

“You ready for this test?” Someone asks from above, and Peggy’s head snaps up. It’s Angie, biting her thumbnail and looking worried. “I was going to study, but I ran out of time, so I crammed during French—can you explain this?” Angie hurriedly pulls her notebook out of her bag and crouches down, then decides to sit on the floor and opens the notebook to a page with a lot of question marks in the margin.

Peggy straightens up and scrutinizes the page. “You do it right here,” she says, tapping her finger on the page, “but you forgot to distribute the negative here.”

“Oh.” Angie sounds relieved. “That would explain it.”

Peggy laughs, a light chuckle that makes Angie blush. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“I really hope so,” Angie admits. “I just need a B on this test to keep an A average, and I keep telling myself it’s not that hard but I’m still worried.”

Peggy looks at her sympathetically. At this point, much of the class is gathered around the door, mumbling impatiently. Out of the corner of her eye, Peggy sees Howard cast them a look. Willing him to be quiet, Peggy stands up and offers her hand to Angie to help her up. Angie takes it without hesitation and Peggy pulls her up—Angie’s hand is warm, and when’s she’s standing, Peggy can smell her conditioner. Peggy’s breath catches in her throat, just a little bit, and then Mr. Dooley’s parting the crowd in front of his classroom and unlocking the door, muttering about Mrs. Fry and her ridiculously long staff meetings.

“Good luck,” Peggy whispers to Angie while Dooley’s passing out the tests. “Or should I say break a leg?” She holds out a hand, intending  a high five, but Angie gives her a quick smile and takes her hand instead, squeezing it lightly before she lets go.

Angie dashes out the door almost the second they’re dismissed, Peggy’s question about how she did still unspoken. Slightly worried, Peggy packs up her things slowly, and only notices Howard standing in front of her desk a minute later.

“Hello,” she greets him, brow furrowed. “Is everything—”

“Do you miss him?” Howard asks, seeming distraught. He wrings his hands together desperately, and casts a look around to see if anyone is listening. “Do you?”

Peggy feels the weight in her chest settle, grow heavier. “Of course I do, why—”

“Sorry,” Howard interrupts her, casting his gaze towards the ground. “It’s just that time of year, and I—“ he breaks off. “I miss him so much,” he says and looks up at her then, eyes filled with rare sincerity.

“I miss him too, Howard,” Peggy assures him, and bites her lip. “But we have to let him go— listen to me,” she says when Howard turns his head away from her.  “Listen, Howard, for once. It’s not your fault, you’ve got to move on sometime—“

“Angie has a crush on you, you know,” he says, quietly, so quietly that Peggy can barely make out what he’s saying. “She’s real nice.”

“How do you know that?” Peggy asks, momentarily taken aback.

Howard shrugs. “I have my sources.”

After a moment, Peggy rolls her eyes. “This isn’t about Angie,” she protests and stands up, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Don’t make this about her—she had nothing to do with Steve, and whatever crush or anything she may have on me has nothing to do with Steve.”

“Sorry.” Howard looks pained. “I just—”

“Please don’t bring this up at school again.” Peggy grits her teeth, surprised at how much she feels like she’s going to cry. “Just don’t, Howard. We can talk about this, that’s fine. But not here.”

Ignoring his apologies, she brushes past him and towards the door. 


	5. part five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Thanks to the usual crew for editing and helping me plan, as well as to all of you for having the patience to wait this one out. It's been a long seven months, guys.

Peggy looks up from her laptop. “Colleen,” she says flatly. Colleen doesn’t look up from her History textbook, but her mouth twitches. She heard. “Colleen,” Peggy repeats, louder. She picks up an eraser and throws it at Colleen, sprawled on the bed in the most anatomically incorrect reading position Peggy thinks she's ever seen.

“What?”

After hesitating a moment, Peggy closes her laptop and twists around in her chair. “You have Angie’s number, right?”

Colleen’s eyebrows nearly disappear under her bangs. “Why, yes I do,” she says, and puts her book to the side. “Do you, uh—” she looks down, back up, and flicks some hair out of her face “—need to contact her?”

“Yes,” Peggy says without so much as a hint of fluster. “For Calculus.”

Colleen nods. “Of course.” She picks up her phone, types furiously for a few seconds, then puts it back down. “Sent it to you.” She smiles impishly and flips her textbook open again. “Tell me what she says—”

“Shush,” Peggy says, blushing now, and turns her phone on.

[5:32] Hi, Angie. This is Peggy.

Peggy pauses, her thumbs over the touch screen, then frantically resumes typing.

[5:32] How do you think you did on the test? You seemed worried earlier.

 _That sounds so dumb,_ Peggy realizes immediately after sending, and sighs inwardly. _Come on, self-restraint, Peg. Why’d you have to text her?_ she asks herself. She probably sounded awkward. She probably should’ve just kept it together until tomorrow and asked Angie like a normal person instead of getting her number like a stalker.

Her phone beeps. Peggy sighs in instant relief and picks it up. One unread message– she swipes to see the message without looking at the sender.

[5:34] Howie Bowie: sorry abt after calc. can we talk?

It’s from _Howard,_ not Angie, and Peggy feels just a tiny bit ridiculous about her reaction. Without replying and slightly embarrassed, she turns the ringer off and sets her phone down on the desk, facedown so that she won’t be able to see the lack of notifications. _This is ridiculous,_ she thinks. _I’m not fourteen._

“Peg?” Colleen peers at her from over the textbook, worried. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Peggy replies automatically, blinking in surprise. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“It’s just—” Colleen glances at her phone “—Howard texted me—”

“You should really turn your phone off when you’re studying,” Peggy mutters, and Colleen rolls her eyes at the comment.

“Anyways,” she continues, “Howard texted me to tell you to text him back.” She holds her phone up towards Peggy, who peruses the screen with pursed lips.

[5:35] Moustache: i saw peggy read my text. i really need to talk to her bc calc & i know she’s w/u, sorry i upset her earlier. tell her to text me. pls.

Peggy sighs and grits her teeth, then opens up her laptop again. “Thank you for your concern,” she says, with a touch of softness to her voice, “but I don’t feel like talking to him right now.”

After a moment of hesitation, Colleen nods. “I’ll just tell him you’re in the shower.” She types for a moment, then sets her phone down. “Wait, Howard is in Calc? Didn't he take that freshman year?”

“He had a free space in his schedule and wanted to take something easy.” Peggy shrugs. “I think he enjoys bothering Mr. Dooley.”

They go back to their respective work, Peggy writing an essay—which, to be fair, she’s not _entirely_ bullshitting—and Colleen reading about post-WWII America. They’re used to this type of silence; it’s comforting when it’s just the two of them, when another human presence doesn’t actually disturb the feeling of solitude.

After a while, Peggy’s eyes start to water from staring at her screen for too long, at the same three sentences that don’t seem to make sense no matter how she tries to phrase them. “Colleen,” she starts, hoping for a distraction, “what am I going to do about Dottie?”

“What do you mean?” Colleen asks, raising an eyebrow. “You can’t get rid of her, might as well just deal with it.”

Peggy sighs. “I just—I don’t want her questioning my authority,” she explains haltingly. “She seems like a lot of people listen to her, and—” Peggy’s voice trails off. “I actually thought I could get things done this year.”

“Look, Peg.” Colleen shrugs. “Dottie’s scary as hell. That doesn’t mean people actually like her. She’s not going to try and get you impeached, or whatever the high school equivalent of that is.” Peggy whines wordlessly, scrunching up her nose. “Peggy! Stop being insecure!”

“I’m not insecure,” Peggy protests. “I just want to be taken seriously.”

Colleen frowns. “You think people are going to take _Dottie_ more seriously than they do you?” She pauses. “Her name is Dottie, for crying out loud.”

Sighing, Peggy concedes. “Alright,” she admits. “Fair point.” She checks her phone. Nothing.

 

 

Mrs. Martinelli bustles into the living room with a laundry basket, shooing Piero out of the way with a single glance. “Angela,” she calls into the kitchen, where Angie’s scarfing down a bowl of Cheerios. “Can you iron?” Sighing, Angie carries her bowl over to the sink and joins her mother in the living room. “Do your dad’s shirts first, he has a meeting tomorrow morning.”

“Will do,” Angie says, faking enthusiasm.

Piero, splayed across the couch and pretending to read his World Geography textbook, laughs. “Convincing, Angie! How'd you get into the play?”

Mrs. Martinelli smiles gratefully at her daughter, then turns around and glares at her son. “Quiet,” she tells him. “And get ready for soccer practice.” She disappears into the kitchen.

“Why don’t you have to help?” Angie complains to Piero, picking up the iron and turning it on.

“Practice starts in ten minutes,” he answers. “I have to leave.”

“It’s Monday,” Angie reminds him, “you have practice on Tuesday. Come on, housework is good for you.”

Quickly, Piero shakes his head. “I moved up, remember? The high school team?”

“Right.” Angie clicks her tongue. “You’re a big freshman now.” She studies him, trying to find some evidence that they’re related. There’s not much—he takes after their father, Angie after their mother, or, according to Nonna, their great-aunt Clara. _We looked more alike when we were younger,_ Angie thinks, strangely nostalgic, even though she doesn’t actually remember those times, only photographs. Still, she’s not used to thinking of Piero in high school; she can vividly recall being as old as him, and briefly wonders if he’s struggling in the same way she was.

When she comes back from her thoughts, Piero is staring at her with a bemused, slightly entertained expression. “Angie? You okay?”

“Yes,” Angie assures him. “Go on, you’ll be late to practice.”

“Can I borrow your bag? The strap on mine broke.”

“Sure,” Angie shrugs. Piero grins at her in thanks and piles his stuff into her bag. Angie winces. It’s going to smell like grass and sweat when she gets it back. “Wait,” she says, but Piero doesn’t seem to hear. “Let me get my phone—”

He slams the door behind him, and Angie sighs in resignation.

“Angela!” Mrs. Martinelli snaps from the kitchen. “The iron!”

Shit. “On it, Ma!”

 

 

Colleen sighs and lets her book flop open on the bed. “You should really text Howard back.”

“I don't have anything to say to him.” Peggy deletes half a paragraph of her essay, biting her lip. “It's not--”

Grumbling, Colleen flips the page. “He seems really worried.” She pauses. “What did he even say?”

Heart sinking, Peggy stops typing. “He... he just asked me if I miss Steve.”

Colleen wrinkles her brow. “What kind of a question is that?” She props herself up. “Seriously, that's fucked up.” She brushes a lock of hair back from her face. “Honestly, what the hell?” The lock of hair falls back into place. “I'm going to text him,” she says decisively. “He needs to step off, stay in his lane, whatever. It doesn't matter. That's just really not okay--”

Peggy shakes her head. “No, don't. Really, don't. He's grieving, we should let him.”

“And you're not?”

Nothing. Peggy looks down at the keyboard; the sting of tears rises in her nose. “It's not that important, Colleen. It'll only make it worse if you get involved.”

“If you say so,” Colleen says, “You know, if you ever want to talk about him--”

Peggy shakes her head. “I don’t.”

“Okay,” Colleen says, till worried but willing to change the subject. “Hey, did Angie ever text back?”

Embarrassment pools in Peggy's stomach as she remembers. She turns her phone over and hesitates before turning the screen on. Two unread messages-- from Howard. She opens them.

[5:50] Howie Bowie: peg im really sorry can you just let me apologize

[5:58] Howie Bowie: i didnt kno who else to talk to

“She hasn't texted back,” Peggy says with a sinking feeling. “Howard texted me, though. Twice.”

“Angie's probably busy,” Colleen assures her. “Theatre practice, maybe?” Colleen's phone buzzes. “Oof. Howard just texted me that you opened his message. I guess he's really worried.”

“Guess he feels a bit shit, then,” Peggy mutters. “Fine, I'll text him back.”

[6:11] Howard, it's alright. If you need to talk you know I'm here for you, but please don't bring it up at school. It's too much.

[6:12] Howie Bowie: thx

“I think he'll live.” Peggy drums her fingers against her laptop. “Colleen?”

“Hmm?” Colleen, having gone back to her reading, doesn't look up.

Peggy hesitates. “Are you really going to quit cheerleading?”

“I don't know,” Colleen says flatly. “Probably not. I just thought—I thought it was time for a change.”

“Not Senioritis, then?” Peggy raises an eyebrow. “It's alright, you know. I think we're all getting a bit tired.”

Colleen lets her head drop onto the bed. “I just want this year to be over,” she says, voice muffled, then rolls over so that she's lying on her back. “I spent four hours doing all my college apps this Saturday. Other than that?” Colleen shakes her head. “Nothing _matters.”_

“And you think quitting cheer is going to make this year go faster?” Peggy crosses her arms. “You're good at cheerleading. You enjoy it, I don't understand--”

Shaking her head again, Colleen rubs the bridge of her nose where her glasses would be if she weren't too vain to wear them. “I just need to get through this,” Colleen whispers. “Either this year needs to be over or we need to be in high school for the rest of our lives.”

Peggy looks down. “I thought you wanted to be done,” she says quietly.

“I do,” Colleen says, “but it's more complicated than that, it's-- there are, what, nine months separating me from the rest of my life? It seems so long and so short and I don't know what's after it.” She sits up. “I need to be there already. I need to be there or have it not—not coming at all.”

Slowly, Peggy nods. “That makes sense. At least I think it does.” She studies her best friend's face. Colleen looks tired, she has to admit. “I'm sorry,” Peggy says thickly.

“You didn't do anything.” Colleen shrugs. “It's _some_ form of Senioritis, I guess.”

They're quiet for a few moments. Peggy doesn't turn back to her laptop. Colleen pretends like she's studying the cover of her History textbook, running her finger along the worn edges of the binding.

“We're going to be fine, you know,” Peggy says. “Really, Colleen.”

Colleen laughs weakly. “That sounds like a promise.”

“It is,” Peggy says earnestly. She places her hand on the bedpost, gripping the wood. “It is.”

 

 

“One basket of laundry, freshly ironed,” Angie says triumphantly, setting the basket of neatly folded clothes onto the kitchen table.

Her mother swats at her with a dish towel. “Don't put it on the table. The bottom isn't clean.”

“Sorry!” Angie moves the basket to the floor. “What's for dinner?”

“Mashed potatoes and meatballs.” Mrs. Martinelli casts a glance at the stove. “Your sister requested it.” She glances around the kitchen. “Can you set the table?”

“When is Piero coming back?” Angie complains, but moves towards the cabinet where they keep the plates. “Can't he do something around the house for once?”

Mrs. Martinelli shakes her head. “He's going to be back too late.” Angie rolls her eyes. “It's good practice!” Mrs. Martinelli says at her daughter's pained expression. “You know men are useless at keeping house; if you don't want to live in a pigsty you'll have to do it yourself.”

Angie bites the inside of her cheek to keep from grimacing. “Yes, Mom.”

“That's my good girl.”

Reaching up to get a plate on the top shelf, Angie tries to ignore her stomach, twisting with anxiety and making her nauseous. "I need my social security number for college applications,” she says, desperate to change the subject. “Can you get me my card later?”

“You should memorize that number,” her mother replies disapprovingly. “Have you started your applications?”

Angie nods, finally managing to maneuver a stack of plates from the shelf to the countertop. “I’m almost done,” she says. “It’s mostly just information. And we had to write a personal statement essay in English. So that’s done,” she finishes brightly.

Mrs. Martinelli nods, pleased. She stirs the mashed potatoes. “You’re so far ahead of Matteo,” she remarks. “He hasn’t even started yet.”

“I guess Aunt Julia isn’t as strict about that kind of stuff,” Angie mutters, making her words run together just enough so her mother can’t understand exactly what she’s saying. “Or maybe it’s not even November and nothing matters.”

“Excuse me?”

Angie doesn’t want to turn around to look at her mother’s face. “Nothing, mom. It’ll be done soon.” She picks up the stack of plates and takes them, as fast as possible, to the dining table.

Mrs. Martinelli sighs from the kitchen. “Have you finalized the list of where you’re applying?”

“Far away from here,” Angie mumbles, setting the table. “As far away as possible.”

 

 

“Maybe Angie isn’t much of a texter?” Peggy shuts her laptop, giving up on finishing the paper tonight.

“Chill,” she says, pressing a few buttons on her calculator. “Why did I take Prob and Stat?”

Peggy raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Already done with history?”

“Ha.” Colleen laughs unconvincingly. “No point.”

Sighing, Peggy sends Colleen a dubious look. “I know you have a test tomorrow,” she says. “Senior or not, you still have to pass.”

“I’ll _pass,”_ Colleen says. “Don’t worry about it, Peggy.”

“Alright, alright,” Peggy says, raising her hands in mock surrender and pulling  out her student council binder. “I need to text Dan about the posters,” she says, more to remind herself than anything else. “And organize the waffle irons-- did we ever reach a consensus on how many we need?”

“If there are 800 students at our high school,” Colleen says, mockingly, “and 75% of people want waffles, and 25% of these people have enough money to buy a waffle, and 35% of the people remaining of the 75% can drum up enough money from friends, but Dottie Underwood--”

Peggy rolls her eyes. “I get the picture.”

“There’s a week left before the waffle sale,” Colleen points out. “Dan’s doing marketing, I’m sure he’s got it under control-- just calm down, okay? Dottie wants this stuff to do well just as much as you do.”

“Or she’s going on a power trip,” Peggy mutters. “She’s going on a power trip and--”

“Now I know why you and Angie get along so well,” Colleen says pointedly. “You’re both overdramatic as all hell.”

“Me? Overdramatic?” Peggy puts a hand on her chest like she’s saying the Pledge of Allegiance. Which she’s never said, actually. Obviously. “How dare you?”

Colleen is about to reply when there’s a knock at the door.

“Girls?” It’s Mrs. Carter. She turns the doorknob and lets the door swing open a few inches, hesitantly poking her head into the room. “Oh, you’re home.”

“Indeed,” Peggy says. She smiles. “How was your day, Mum?”

Mrs. Carter leans against the doorframe, blazer hanging loose off of her shoulders. “Nothing particularly interesting, I’m afraid. I swear my students get stupider every year.”

“What courses are you teaching this semester?” Colleen asks.

“Foundations of Sociology,” Mrs. Carter replies. Colleen and Peggy trade a questioning glance. “Oh, enough, you two. It’s interesting, I promise,”

“If only I could believe you,” Peggy says, feigning sincerity.

“Does Deviant Behavior sound more interesting to you?” Mrs. Carter crosses her arms, a smirk almost identical to Peggy’s ghosting across her face. “That’s my other class. I always thought I found topics more interesting if I could relate to them personally.”

Peggy rolls her eyes. “You’re hilarious, Mum.”

“I do try.”

Colleen snickers.

“Are you prepared for your test tomorrow?” Mrs. Carter asks. “I do hope you’re not distracting each other too much, girls.”

“I don’t have a test tomorrow,” Peggy says, forehead wrinkling. “I had a test today.”

Looking down, Mrs. Carter sighs. “Were you prepared, at least? I really thought it was tomorrow, or I wouldn’t have let you go out all afternoon yesterday.”

“It’s only Calculus,” Peggy protests.

“It’s only Calculus,” Colleen imitates her, just under her breath.

“And it matters,” Mrs. Carter says earnestly. “Have you signed up to retake the SATs?”

Peggy rolls her eyes, looking down at the last moment to avoid her mother seeing. “Not this again.”

Colleen shifts awkwardly. She looks at the wall, at the poster of the Periodic Table of Elements Peggy has hanging above her bed.

“Yes, this again.” Mrs. Carter raps her knuckles on the doorframe. “Take care of it.”

“Alright,” Peggy grumbles. Mrs. Carter smiles wearily and leaves the room.

“What did you get on the SATs the first time?” Colleen asks once Mrs. Carter’s footsteps have disappeared down the hall.

Peggy grimaces. “Good enough,” she says. “I don't even remember the exact number. Mum's just worried. European schools have high standards, I guess.”

Colleen nods. She taps out a few numbers on her calculator and scribbles them into her notebook. “So you're for sure going to school in England?” She looks up at Peggy, hoping to catch her off guard so she'll actually answer.

If Peggy is annoyed at the question, she doesn't show it. “I don't know yet,” she says and shrugs, typing idly on her phone.

“Ooh, did Angie text back?” At this point, Colleen is just grasping at straws to keep from having to do math homework.

“Still no,” Peggy says, humiliation evident in her voice. “I wish I'd just asked her tomorrow, this is getting embarrassing.”

Colleen makes a sympathetic face. “Maybe her phone died.” She raises her eyebrows slightly. “Of course, it's always hard when someone you like--”

“Stop right there,” Peggy says flatly, not even glancing at Colleen as she shoves her laptop into her backpack. “I'd be careful about going down that train of thought.”

“Aw.” Colleen fails to bite back a grin. Peggy shoots her a glare fierce enough to make a lion stop in its tracks. “Guess not,” Colleen mutters, then leaps up from the bed. “Hey, what's for dinner?” Colleen asks brightly, making a beeline towards the door. “I'm real hungry.”

Gaze softening, Peggy gets up and joins Colleen. “That distraction tactic isn't always going to work, you know,” she says.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Colleen says cheerfully. “Maybe someday you'll believe it.”

  


“It wasn't that funny.” Peggy opens the front door. “Really, Colleen.”

“Oh, it was.” Colleen steps through the door, hoisting her backpack up from the floor and swinging it onto one shoulder. “Six bowls of noodles!”

“There was too much water in the pot,” Peggy says stiffly. “And the box slipped. It’s not my fault.”

Colleen snorts and starts walking towards her car. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” Peggy calls after Colleen’s retreating figure. She waits until Colleen’s reached her car safe, then closes the door, which locks with a small _click._

Upstairs, she surveys her room, getting more exhausted the longer she looks at it. Her debate materials are all in a corner, papers strewn about and crumpled from the way she’s taken to shoving things into her bag lately. _My life is falling apart,_ Peggy thinks, and looks at her closet, which used to be color-coded but is now a pile of clothing that she can’t find the time to take apart and sort out. Her gaze drifts from her closet to her bookshelf, which she spent six hours two summers ago (could it really have been only two summers ago?) organizing with Steve, six hours more spent reading out the summaries on the back covers to each other and laughing than really getting any work done, but the hours went by and they were done and Peggy’s bookshelf was alphabetized by author’s last name, a state which remains preserved only because Peggy doesn’t have time to read anymore.

She sinks onto her bed. She still has to annotate for English and do the Calculus homework that wasn’t due today because of the test, and she can tell her phone is blowing up with notifications just by looking at her desk. _What do they want from me now?_ she thinks, strangely bitter, but stands to retrieve her phone anyway.

There are so many notifications that they fill up the entire screen. “What the hell?” she mutters to herself, then realizes that most of the numbers are from the Student Council group chat. Rolling her eyes, she swipes to open the chat and skims over 26 texts, nothing important, nothing she wants to deal with right now.

The messaging icon is still showing 2 unread messages. More resigned than actively irritated, Peggy opens them.

[7:45] Angie M.: omg sorry my brother accidentally took my phone with him to soccer practice

[7:45] Angie M.: anyway I think the test went ok! with the curve anyway haha. thanks for asking :)

God, Peggy’s relieved. _God,_ Peggy’s embarrassingly relieved, this is ridiculous, she’s not _fourteen_.   She wants to wait to reply, think about what she should say, but then she remembers that she’s got read receipts enabled and hastily starts typing out a response.

[7:50] Oh, good! You’re welcome, I’m glad to hear it.

 _Okay, now that’s enough,_ Peggy thinks, desperately and not quite convincingly. _Enough, enough, enough._

  


**Author's Note:**

> Check out delphineshigh's social media edits based on this fic! Can be found here: 
> 
> http://delphineshigh.tumblr.com/tagged/cartinelli%20hs%20au
> 
> ...and now with a Dottie/Lorraine companion fic! 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/3821164/chapters/8519758


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